


The Games They Play (The Secret History of Neal Caffrey, Part Four)

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Secret History of Neal Caffrey [4]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bite Kink, Deep Throating, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn, Pre-Movie, Pre-Series, Slash, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 16:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Harry's enjoying his time with Nick Halden. He's beautiful, talented, and a liar.Just like Harry himself.





	The Games They Play (The Secret History of Neal Caffrey, Part Four)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by my dearest [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/miri_thompson/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/miri_thompson/)**miri_thompson** , but not Britpicked.
> 
> For Kingsman fans - Nick Halden is a well-established alias for Neal Caffrey, he's a high stakes gambler and an investment banker/money launderer (see White Collar, Season One, Episode Six - All In).
> 
> And please pay attention to the rating and tags, the heat's been turned up and it's gotten very smutty in here.

**London, 2003**

Harry wakes up with that delicious feeling of sexual satisfaction, one he only gets after a night spent fucking and being fucked. It is, frankly, a rare sensation. Most men, these days, seem to be locked into defined sexual roles - top or bottom - without any interest in exploration or variation.

Nick, however, is delightfully flexible in mind as well as body; as interested in giving pleasure as in receiving it. There's an honesty in his sexuality that doesn't extend to the rest of his personality, but Harry doesn't mind. After all, he's a liar, too - just in the service of the greater good. Something that Nick isn't.

Of that Harry's certain.

But Nick Halden, or whoever he really is, has many attractions that give Harry impetus to overlook his petty deceits. Nick is stunning - jaw-droppingly so - with his ice-blue eyes framed with lashes like the wings of one of Harry's favorite butterflies, a body that would make Michelangelo weep while he reached for his chisels, and perfectly styled hair. Harry has to admit to a certain amount of jealousy over that. Nick's hair needs only the minimal amount of product, while if Harry doesn't lacquer his own hair, it springs out in the most ridiculous curls. 

But Nick's far more than a beautiful package. He's brilliant, speaks a half-dozen languages fluently (and Harry suspects that he probably reads just as many others), well-read beyond his apparent youth (according to Nick's passport, he's twenty-five), and gifted with an artistic talent that makes Harry wonder why the man's wasting his time pretending to be a banker with a penchant for high-stakes gambling. 

Harry tilts his head and ponders the puzzle before him.

"Don't move," Nick commands. Those are the first words he's spoken since they'd finished their morning coffee and Nick asked Harry if he wouldn't mind posing for him.

Harry returns to his former position and lets out a tiny sigh. He has no problems with this unbound immobility, he would just rather be doing something else. Like fucking Nick over the back of this rather uncomfortable armchair. 

"And done." 

"Done?"

"Well, not really - just lost the light." Nick carefully replaces the pastel he'd been using back in its slot and closes the box. Harry likes how well Nick treats his materials. 

"May I see?"

"Not just yet." Nick puts a sheet of vellum over the page he's working on and closes his sketchbook.

Harry makes a moue of disappointment, but it's all pretense. What's not pretense is the crick in his neck. He stretches and is rewarded with the satisfying sounds of popping ligaments. And the equally satisfying look of appreciation on Nick's face.

"It really is a pity I've lost the light. I'd love to get you in a different pose." 

"Do we really need the light for that?" Harry raises a suggestive eyebrow and Nick chuckles.

"Hmm, there is something to be said for the darkness." Nick gets up, as unabashedly naked as Harry, and pulls the heavy draperies shut. 

Harry reaches for Nick, catching him more out of luck than skill as the room's plunged into darkness. Nick doesn't fight back as Harry twists his arm behind his back, a favorite capture position, and Nick gasps. Harry enjoys his partner's swift erection and twists Nick's arm a little harder. Over the past few weeks he's learned that Nick doesn't mind a little pain, a little physical persuasion as a prelude to sex. 

"Will you be good for me?"

Nick struggles - but it's all play acting - as he's actually rubbing himself against Harry's hip like a cat in heat. "And if I'm not?" 

"Darling, don't ask questions you already know the answer to." Harry presses his teeth against Nick's shoulder and bites down. 

Nick bucks up against him and mutters, "Last time we did this, I couldn't sit for two days."

"Bad boys get what they deserve." Harry doesn't particularly enjoy daddy kink, and thankfully, neither does Nick. But they both enjoy the pleasure of light discipline.

"I have a game tonight. High stakes at the Carleton."

"Ah." Harry releases Nick's arm, but not the man. He wraps his hands around Nick's waist and holds him still. "We wouldn't want you to lose a game because your ass is too sore." He's a little disappointed, but he understands.

"Another time?" Nick's kissing his neck, his hands cupping Harry's ass, fingers curving inward.

"Most certainly." Harry walks Nick backwards, towards the bed. "Can I still fuck you, or will that be too much of a distraction later?"

"Hmm, probably." Nick falls onto the bed and Harry follows him down. "But I don't need to talk too much, no one likes a chatterbox at the table."

Harry pets Nick, from shoulder to groin, cupping his hand around Nick's cock. He strokes his fist around the hot, hard flesh. Nick's cock, like the rest of him, is perfect, and if Nick isn't interested in giving Harry a blow job, Harry certainly wouldn't mind giving one to Nick. 

But Nick is definitely interested in giving Harry a blow job, and he's is as much of an expert at oral sex as he is at everything else. Harry loses himself in pleasure, but the well-trained part of his mind that never fully lets go and just _experiences_ stays quiet, if aware. Harry's been on too many honeypot missions not to realize that he can be far too vulnerable in this state.

But Nick doesn't seem to be interested in anything but swallowing cock, and Harry finds a new appreciation for Nick's lack of gag reflex and creative tongue. So creative, in fact, that Harry actually screams as Nick sucks the orgasm out of him

When he resurfaces, Harry makes a sincere, but weak-limbed offer to reciprocate. 

"How about I hump you, instead? This way, you don't have to move."

Harry gives Nick - who is wearing a come-smeared grin - the stink-eye and rolls over, letting Nick do all the work.

Nick's taking his turn in the shower when Merlin calls. Even though it's Sunday, the world needs saving and there's a jet and a briefing package waiting for him at HQ. Harry sighs. This is why relationships never really work for men like him.

He's knotting his tie as Nick comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white robe - the twin to the one that Harry had tossed onto the rumpled bed.

"Problem, Harry?" They'd planned on spending the day as sybaritically as possibly. 

"Duty calls." Henry DeVere is a property management consultant, an excuse that lets him swan off at the drop of a hat. "Client needs, so I must go."

Nick makes a face, but it's clear that he's not overly upset. "If I make the final table tonight, I'll have my buy-in covered for a game in Hong Kong. I probably won't be back in London for a month."

Harry kisses Nick, it's a gesture of farewell. "Good luck, then." There's no need to promise to stay in touch; Harry just hopes that whatever plans Nick has will keep him out of his professional orbit. 

Nick responds in kind. "Travel cheerfully."

Harry shuts the door behind him, Nick's half-completed sketch of him carefully folded and tucked into his breast pocket.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It's six weeks before Harry gets back to London. The mission had gone smoothly; he'd assassinated a cabinet minister who had been planning on testing poison gas on his country's troublesome minority population. And for his efforts, Harry has a new headline to pin to his office wall, something vulgar about Victoria Beckham.

He also has another case of post-mission ennui, one so bad that he'd actually asked Merlin if he could work the comms on Tristan's last mission. Merlin just gave him a look and told him to go home. Harry Hart might be Kingsman's finest agent, but he's shite when it comes to running the comms. It's an ego thing, Merlin says. Harry Hart is a fucking peacock with an ego the size of a blue whale - not undeservedly, mind you - but Harry directs operations the way that Harry performs operations. Like some fucking piece of choreography by George Fucking Balanchine. Tristan is pushing seventy, his knees are shot, he's got three fused vertebrae, and the last time he fired a gun, John Major has been Prime Minister. 

So no, Harry's not working the comms, fuck you very much, if just because Tristan is retiring in a month, and it's Merlin's job to see that retirement doesn't mean a lead-lined casket and a poorly attended service in some pastoral church in the Lake District. 

Harry Hart is going home and staying out of Merlin's non-existent hair until Monday at the earliest. If they're both lucky, maybe even Tuesday.

So Harry's on leave for a few days. On leave and at a loss for what to do. He _could_ head back to Portobello Road, but somehow, he doesn't think he'll have such luck again. 

Or he could see if Nick's back in London.

That might be complicated, though. After all, he'd raided the man's sketchbook and he doesn't really have a good reason for that. 

But he can improvise. Harry Hart is exceptional at improvising.

It doesn't take much effort to locate the website for the game that Nick had mentioned when they'd parted. It had been a legitimate tournament within the high stakes poker circuit, and it seems that Nick Halden not only finished in the money, he made the final table. The next game in the circuit is back here, in London, and it starts in a week. Which might just mean that Nick's back in town.

Harry dithers. Does he want to complicate his life? Is Nick really a complication or just a diversion? Annoyed, Harry scrolls through his phone and finds Nick's number. He'll call just once, and he won't leave a message.

To Harry's surprise, Nick answers on the first ring.

"Welcome home, Mr. DeVere." 

Harry smiles at the words. "And congratulations, Mr. Halden."

"Do I want to know how you know?"

Harry can hear the delight in Nick's voice - delight that Harry cared enough to check up on him. "The poker circuit has a website, you were listed as the runner up in the Hong Kong tourney at the Raffles."

"Then I guess I'm buying tonight."

"I guess you are."

They make plans to meet at a bistro on the edge of Bloomsbury, where Nick resides. It's a bit too far to walk and Harry calls for a cab, a regular one, not a Kingsman cab. Those are supposed to be for official business only, not for ferrying agents to romantic assignations.

Harry supposes that if he and Nick are going to be a thing, he should really find out just who Nick Halden really is. Fingerprints would be easy enough to obtain, but Merlin's letting him try the latest version of his pet project - eye glasses with built-in cameras and wifi. These have been years in the making, but Merlin swears that this time, he's solved the battery problem and the wearer's ears won't catch on fire. 

If Merlin promise holds and the glasses actually work, Harry will get a picture of Nick and have Merlin run it through their facial recognition database. Otherwise, this evening might end with some embarrassing explanations.

But everything goes smoothly and Harry's reunion with Nick reaches a rather pleasant climax - one featuring Harry's dick up Nick's ass. Even better, Nick doesn't ask about the missing sketch.

Harry transmits the picture to Merlin and makes plans to go the National Gallery with Nick - there's a Turner exhibit that seems to excite the man far more than it should. But perhaps Harry's just jaded. It is rather intriguing to listen to Nick talk about color and light and the use of oils - he seems to have far more passion for art than he does for his investment banking business or even gambling. Not that Harry minds, because there's nothing more boring than investment banking or listening to someone replay their winning hand.

The days off pass a bit too swiftly for Harry, he's enjoying Nick's company far too much and it's almost a relief when Merlin calls him back to HQ. Merlin doesn't say anything about an assignment and Harry has a feeling that he's got information about Nick. Information that Harry's not sure he wants to hear.

__

_TO BE CONTINUED_

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me at my tumblr [Obscene Circus Ponies](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/), or on my old school (and much beloved) [Dreamwidth](http://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/) account. I'm always ready to geek out about fannish feels.


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